


Omega

by megahypno



Series: As Mammals Do [1]
Category: Metalocalypse
Genre: Awkward Blow Jobs, Bloodplay, Choking, M/M, Strangulation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-29
Updated: 2014-05-29
Packaged: 2018-01-27 00:37:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1708484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/megahypno/pseuds/megahypno
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Magnus draws blood and the assassin draws nearer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Omega

Magnus didn’t notice it the first few times. Once in a while he’d cut himself shaving or let a hangnail run too deep. Little things, never enough to draw attention. The first time he became conscious of it was when he sliced his hand open accidentally while toying with his favorite knife. He’d fumbled only briefly and the wound wasn’t deep, but it dribbled blood slowly over his open palm.

“Shit,” he muttered, coiling and uncoiling his fingers to make sure he still had mobility enough to play guitar, the tips of his fingers slicked with red. He stood, eyes still focused on the wound when he felt the gravity of the room intensify. Magnus could feel the weight of his boss’s presence behind him. The smell of bone, like a tooth being drilled filled the air. He turned slowly, the telltale glint of the giant’s mask catching what little light could manage to penetrate this dungeon he called a hideout.

Magnus stiffened, sheathing the knife and clenching his bloody hand into a fist while averting his eyes. Whatever the assassin wanted, Magnus wasn’t going to make the first move. When he glanced back, however, the figure was gone.

It wasn’t until he’d finished running the cut under the icy faucet water that he realized this wasn’t the first time the assassin had presented himself seemingly without reason. Though he owned this warehouse, days would go by sometimes and Magnus wouldn’t ever catch a glimpse of him. If he did show up it was only to relay orders or to make sure Magnus knew who was in charge, which irritated the musician to no end. Why would he make the effort to appear, only to vanish again without exchanging a word? Magnus traced the fresh wound with his finger gently. Any more pressure and it would start bleeding again.

He froze.

\---

Admittedly, he hadn’t completely thought this through. Maybe the heat had finally gotten to him, or maybe it was the fact that he hadn’t been out to socialize with normal people for six months, but at the time it seemed like a perfectly innocent idea. He just wanted to see what would happen.

Reclining on his makeshift bed (a sleeping bag on top of a filthy mattress), Magnus readied his knife for what he was about to do. It wouldn’t take much, he reasoned as he placed the tip against his index. Just a prick. He pushed forward.

The knife’s edge bit into his skin cleanly. He barely felt any resistance at all as the cool metal dug into his calloused flesh. A single bead of red began to pool at the base of the blade, swelling with its own weight until finally the tension broke and a slow trickle of blood began to run down his finger.

He lifted his eyes to the door he’d left just open enough to tempt a crossbreeze to combat the midsummer heat. The rivulet of red hadn’t even reached his palm when he heard shuffling from across the room. Magnus sat up as the hinges creaked and the assassin’s towering figure stepped into the room.

In the light he wasn’t any less intimidating than when he was cloaked in shadow. In the dark, one imagined the horrible features he possessed. Perhaps long, razor fangs or a terrifying, disfigured face. In the light it was so much worse. Deep blue veins swelled against corpse-white flesh. Burn scars and age warped what little of his face was visible below the mask that provided his namesake. Magnus struggled not to shake as he got to his feet. He wouldn’t let himself admit that the unsteadiness might be fear, instead settling on taut nerves stretched with anticipation. He offered his injured hand towards the assassin, palm up.

“Is this what you want?”

In two strides the assassin had crossed the room, closing the gap between them. Magnus felt something brush his hip but his attention was drawn back to his bleeding hand. Gently, as though he were cradling an egg, the assassin had cupped his hand under Magnus’s own. Magnus tensed as a coarse thumb pad traced the space between his thumb and index. He didn’t pull away, didn’t even flinch as the assassin’s cold grey eyes turned to meet his single brown one.

Without blinking, the assassin shifted his grip around Magnus’s wrist, less gently now. The pressure was just enough to be threatening as the assassin deliberately began drawing Magnus’s hand towards his own mouth. He froze as the chalk white lips parted and the assassin’s tongue swiped across his injured finger.

The guitarist’s breath hitched in his chest, eyes widening as the assassin took more of the digit into his mouth, sandpaper tongue swirling over the cut then down into the crook of his fingers where the blood had begun to drip onto his hand. His finger now clean, the assassin relinquished his index from his lips and his grip on Magnus’s wrist but made no motion otherwise.

Magnus spared a glance down at his hand. The pierced skin had completely stopped bleeding now. He turned to look at the masked man again. His expression hadn’t changed, and it gave Magnus the feeling of being observed by some large predator, waiting to strike. Part of him wanted to raise his hackles and assert his autonomy, but that part was being drowned in the heady buzz filling his brain and was still lost between the assassin’s lips.

He gave his wound a tentative squeeze with his right forefinger and thumb, watching as the blood reluctantly oozed from the tiny crevice in his skin before he lifted it to his mouth and slowly dragged the bleeding index across his lower lip. An invitation.

The assassin’s response was swift and aggressive. Magnus found himself pinned to the wall by his wrists, the smell of bone and earth overwhelming. His moans were stifled behind the possessive force of the masked man’s mouth, scouring his lips and pushing past them for any trace of blood that might have escaped him. Another wave of gasps died in his throat, replaced by a sharp cry as he felt the larger man’s teeth sink into the tender flesh. Magnus shivered as the pain was mitigated by gentle licks. He wouldn’t mistake them for a gesture of tenderness, but he appreciated it all the same.

He grunted as he felt the pressure ease away, the absence of the assassin’s mouth exposing his split lip to the sting of the dry summer air. The grip on his wrists loosened and fell away. Magnus made a move to stand on his own but felt himself shoved back into the concrete wall. He opened his eyes to see the assassin’s hand moving just below his peripheral vision. A tightness began to constrict around Magnus’s throat. He tried to cry out, but the monster’s thumb had begun compressing his windpipe and what came out was a neutered yelp instead. He could feel his feet leaving the ground as he was lifted into the air and he kicked helplessly at his attacker and clawed the hand that was strangling him.

He could feel the bruises beginning to form around his neck and his eyes rolled backwards toward the wall. Blackness ebbed at the corners of his vision, and he almost didn’t notice when he felt something cold being pressed against the inside of his cheek. Just as he felt reality begin to swim and the darkness had almost overtaken his eyes, he felt a warm sensation fill his mouth and his body crumpled to the floor.

Desperate for air, he struggled to open his lungs but whatever was in his mouth poured down the back of his throat and he coughed painfully as his body tried to expel it. It tasted heavy, metallic and warm and as he regained his breath he realized what it had to be. Looking up into the light Magnus couldn’t see his assailant's face but in one hand he clutched Magnus’s knife, now stained with its owners blood.

Magnus began to stagger to his feet, ready to come back swinging. The taste of copper now joined the smell of adrenaline and sweat and Magnus wasn’t sure whether he should rightfully be as aroused as he was. The assassin made a sudden movement over him and Magnus flinched, ready to be greeted by a blow across his face. He was surprised to feel a firm but steady hand on his shoulder.

“On your knees.”

The assassin’s voice was a low rumble but it wasn’t his usual menacing growl. It was a command but not backed up with the threat of deadly force. The hand applied pressure, pushing him down gently back onto the floor. Magnus resisted, still ready to strike. Without warning, the assassin lashed out, kicking one foot out from under the smaller man, breaking his stance. Magnus’s knees hit the floor first with an unsettling crack joined by a shuddering cry, muffled by the blood still streaming from his mouth.

“I said,” the assassin snarled more aggressively, “get on your knees.”

God he had no right to be this fucking hard. Magnus turned his gaze upward, the masked man’s face in shadow against the single bare bulb that provided the only source of light. Magnus was reminded of a wolf, silhouetted against the night sky and as the hand that had been on his shoulder found its way to his blood-soaked lips he felt even more helpless against the beast. So why the fuck was he getting off on it?

The digits lingering on his lips pushed past them, sending another warm wave dribbling down his chin and onto his chest. He didn’t realize how bad the cut was until he felt the assassin’s fingers toying with the gash that stretched along the side of his mouth from front to back. That was going to hurt tomorrow.

“Suck.”

Magnus inhaled sharply at the tone of the command. He felt completely vulnerable, like he was deliberately baring his neck to this predator, his superior. Still, he couldn’t ignore the way the masked man’s tone played havoc with his head and his dick. He complied more enthusiastically than he’d meant to, enjoying the saltiness of the skin and the way it tasted with the blood still streaming from his wounded cheek.

Carefully, he began undoing the assassin’s belt, trying and failing to keep his hands steady as he shoved the larger man’s pants past his hips, the head of his cock protruding over the waistline, already somewhat firm. The masked man withdrew his fingers and smeared the blood dribbling from the corners of Magnus’s mouth around his swollen lower lip. Magnus could feel his dick twitch as the sensitive skin where he’d been bitten was worried under the assassin’s thumb. Shivering with arousal, Magnus leaned up and slipped his mouth around the assassin, the heavy taste of him mixing with the coppery tang of blood and making Magnus that much harder.

He’d never done this before but he figured it didn’t take a genius to give head. Feeling the masked man hardening in his mouth, he reasoned, must be a sign that he was at least doing something right. Lapping gently at the tip and exploring it with his mouth, he tried a few different approaches before settling on swirling his tongue over the head, savoring the mix of blood and flesh and focusing on how good it felt to be in control again, even if he was on his knees. He worked slowly, doing his best to rile something in the monster towering over him.

A dissatisfied grunt came from somewhere above him and it was the only warning Magnus got before a forceful set of fingers tangled in his hair shoved him forward, forcing the entirety of the assassin’s cock into his mouth. It wasn’t pleasant and Magnus could feel himself gagging a little as it hit the roof of his mouth, coming dangerously close to the back of his throat but the low rumble of the assassin’s moan and the shiver it sent down Magnus’s spine was enough to make him forget the discomfort.

Magnus tried to maneuver the dick in his mouth away from the side that had been sliced open but it was hard with the assassin half-fucking his face and a mixture of blood, saliva, and what he assumed to be precum pooling at the corners of his lips and onto his chin and chest. It was difficult trying to focus on the pressure in his mouth that was slowly crawling down his throat with the straining in his pants becoming ever more distracting.

He palmed himself roughly through too much denim, shutting his eyes to the world and just letting the sensations drown out everything else. He didn’t care if he came in his pants like a fucking teenager, the taste of blood and the force of the masked man thrusting into his mouth was overwhelming. Fumbling with his zipper, he shoved his cock into his fist. The friction was almost too much but he’d certainly done worse before and it just felt so goddamn good, his lips and knees beginning to ache as he drilled mindlessly into his own hand.

He tried to time his thrusts with the bobbing of his head but it was tough to focus and he couldn’t do much more than grope himself as the assassin’s pace quickened. It was the only indication that he was nearing the edge. Magnus rocked his hips needily, almost too focused on the sensation of flesh on flesh to notice that the masked man was saying something. He felt himself being pulled away, the assassin’s cock popping out of his mouth with a wet sound, vivid red and dripping from the wound inside Magnus’s cheek. He didn’t stop fucking his own fist as the assassin’s hand reached down, slowly jerking off right in Magnus’s face. With the other hand, he teased the bitten flesh of Magnus’s lip and murmured something.

“ _Whelp_.”

That was it, Magnus came like a fucking freight train. Holding on for dear life, waves of pleasure rocked his body. He rode it out, stroking his cock until he was completely spent, only looking up when he heard a stifled moan above him. He opened his eyes just in time to see the assassin doubled over, still stroking his own leaking dick. Magnus didn’t even have time to think, he opened his mouth as the masked man came with a quick grunt all over Magnus’s face and chest.

Magnus reached up and wiped his chin with his sleeve. Glancing down, he was a fucking mess. His chest was coated with sweat and long crimson strips ran the length of his torso. His jacket was ruined but he didn’t have enough strength left to give a shit.

“Aim next time, jackass.”

The assassin made a noncommittal growl that would have been threatening if Magnus didn’t feel like a limp noodle. He grinned wolfishly as the assassin made a threatening grab at his collar, which he dodged just barely before the masked man’s boot collided with his ribs and he crashed backwards into the concrete wall.

“Jesus fucking Christ, you’ll fucking pay for that!” Magnus screeched, clutching his bloodied chest and glancing up just in time to see the giant slip back into the shadowy hall.

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to AngelicPretty for putting up with my struggles while writing this hoo hoo.


End file.
